The wind howled against the trees. They rocked back and forth, shaking off snow. The white fluff tumbled through the air landing on and in front of a tall man.

His violet eyes flicked up. Chuckling softly at the wind, he tightened his scarf around his face and continued walking.

It was days like this Ivan Braginski - the personification of Russia - didn't mind being alone. Days when he didn't crave for his only companion, a bottle of whiskey, in his clutch.

But the pang of sadness always loomed over him. He kicked a bit of the snow up. The wind carried it in the opposite of direction.

Alone. That's all he ever was and all he would ever be. Sure he had his sisters. Katyusha loved him. She took care of him. Natalia adored him, but she was blinded by love.

The Baltic Trio trembled in his presence. Was that really a friendship or a dictatorship?

Silence. A near perfect silence. Ivan's breathing got hitched. He checked his heart. Still beating, but at a much slower pace.

Was he dying? No. He couldn't be he felt fine. A bulge appeared in the middle of his chest. He pressed his heart back into his skin and continued walking.

Dusk was falling upon the forest. General Winter was making the night arrive earlier than normal. Ivan's shadow expanded deeper into the depths of the forest. Creatures that were hiding skirted away from the intruder.

Not even animals wanted to be his friends.

Ivan abandoned the path he created and headed underneath a tree. Like his childhood, he would sleep in the wilderness. Cold and alone.

Cold and alone forever.